


The Kid You Will Never Have

by LadySalamander



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Ashe gets mad, M/M, hella mad, post reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 02:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySalamander/pseuds/LadySalamander
Summary: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe hated Hanzo Shimada, and after today she doubted she was ever going to stop.i.e Ashe chases after Jesse and witnesses something she would rather not have seen.





	The Kid You Will Never Have

Elizabeth Ashe was sixteen years old, and Hanzo Shimada was fifteen. The little snot they said was his brother was barely twelve.

Elizabeth Ashe hated Hanzo Shimada.

For starters, his suit fitted him too well. The boys at Ashe’s prep school all wore their blazers like ill fitted hand me downs; a bunch of idiotic, hormone fuelled mouth breathers parading around in expensive clothes they had no idea how to wear because that’s what they thought it meant to be other, meant to be rich. Hanzo Shimada’s suit was _tailored_ , and _crisp_ , and _well cared for_. His shirttails were neatly tucked in, and it made him look older than he was, older than Ashe at any rate, which bothered her.

Secondly, he was quiet.

“Sojiro Shimada has boys about your age,” said Ashe’s father. “Be polite for once, will you? Try and get along. Try to be friends.”

“Nice to meet ya’ll,” she’d said when they were introduced, sticking out her hand. Polite but friendly, right? Her father nearly rolled his eyes. Too friendly, then. Too folksy.

“A pleasure,” said Hanzo, taking her hand and bowing. Ashe had expected his hand to be like his suit. Clean. Well cared for. It was clean all right, but bandaged on the palm, and she was surprised to feel real calluses along his fingers.

“Howdy!” said the younger brother, gripping her hand in two of his own, both sweaty and soft. His shirttails were already coming out of his waistband. “You have a very nice house!” he said, his words thick with his accent, and honesty.

“What,” she replied, “this old dump?”

“Better than our house!” said Genji. “No walls.”

Hanzo said something to his brother in Japanese, causing him to deflate a little and roll his eyes.

“See?” said her father. “Easy. Now keep the boys company while Mister Shimada and I work on business, okay sweetheart?”

Ashe sighed, “Yes Daddy.”

The two men began to leave the room, Shimada in his plain but again, extremely well fitting black suit, her father in khakis and his white jacket.

“Otosan!” Hanzo called after his father, letting off a string of Japanese. Ashe understood neither him nor the elder Shimada’s reply, but she got the gist of it. _You said you would let me join you this time._

“Hey sweetheart,” said Ashe’s father, interrupting even though she knew he barely spoke any Japanese either. “Why don’t you take the boys outside? Or show them your Playstation?”

_Show them your Playstation, like what, they were ten years old?_ Ashe seethed. The men left the room. Hanzo looked mad too. He had heavy eyebrows. It suited him. Ashe hated it. Like these boys didn’t have a Playstation. Genji’s face, however, lit up at the mention of video games.

“What games do you have?” he asked. “Do you have uh, Sōrukyaribā?”

“Soul Calibur,” his brother translated. Ashe’s lips turned up at the corner. She had no idea what the hell that was.

“Uh, I have the _Golden Eye_ remake,” she said, trying desperately to think of games she had that could be played with more than one person. She didn’t think it was that exciting, but Genji’s face lit up like Christmas.

“We are not allowed to have that game,” said Hanzo. Ashe felt smug.

“Well, you’re in _my_ house, so I guess I say you can play it.” It might even be fun, she thought, to see looks on people’s faces for once as she whooped their ass. They were both total newbies; this was going to be a piece of cake.

What it actually turned out to be was a disaster. Hanzo was better than her. Much better. Calm and collected the whole time in his perfect suit while Ashe and Genji pounded away at the controls with ever increasing frustration.

“You must be calm,” Hanzo told his brother. “You too, Miss Ashe. Your aim is very good but you need to think before you act.”

“Yeah?” she spat back. “Well what the hell do you know about a game you ain’t never played before!” She was hoping to rile him up, get him to do something other than sit there quietly like an omnic, but Hanzo only frowned. Ashe wanted them gone. She wanted them to leave. Her father had promised to go riding with her last week, and instead he had decided to hold a business meeting at the house and told the other guy to bring his brats of all things. She was saved having to start a fight with the boy when he spotted their fathers out on the patio, chatting at the glass topped table under the umbrella.

“Pardon me,” he said, dropping his controller and rising swiftly to his feet. Ashe and Genji heard him leave the house, and saw him quietly join the other men outside.

Reason three; he thought he was better than her.

“New game!” Genji declared.

The Shimadas did not stay for dinner.

“Hanzo is really a nice boy,” said Ashe’s father after they left. “He’s very attentive, very keen on learning the family business. He listens to his father.

_Yeah yeah_ , thought Ashe. _Hanzo Shimada is the kid you always wanted, the boy you will never have._

Over the next year or so the Shimada’s visited three more times, during which Hanzo out shot Ashe, beat her in a horse race, beat her at poker and checkers, proved to be a much better english speaker than she initially thought, spent more and more time in the business meetings, continued to impress her father, and continued to annoy the ever loving shit out of Elizabeth Ashe. Every time they left the rhetoric became more and more, _Why don’t you take more interest in the family business? Why can’t you pay more attention? Why do you have to get in fights? Why can’t you be more like him?_

The last time she saw Genji Shimada, he had a broken arm and a pissy expression on his face.

“Do you know?” he asked her, when nobody else was around. “Do you know why Hanzo has blood on his hands at all times? They teach us to fight, with sword and, uh, bow and arrow.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” Ashe replied in all honesty. Genji scoffed.

“Does your father know?” he asked. “Does Mister Ashe know what the family business is? Does he know we are, um, bad people?”

“Criminals?” asked Ashe. Genji nodded. Ashe shrugged. “Nobody makes it rich who follows the law.”

“Rules, taxes,” Genji waved his hand dismissively. “Not bad. They’re teaching us to kill people.”

_You want me to be more like Hanzo Shimada? Ashe thought. Fine. I can be more like Hanzo fucking Shimada._

\---------------

“Follow him!” Ashe screamed. “You follow Jesse McCree! You find out where that good for nothing fucker is staying, what he’s doing, who he’s doin’ it with, and you RUIN. HIS. FUCKING. LIFE!”

Bob tapped her on the shoulder, reminding her.

“And you get my bike back while you’re at it!”

Ashe flopped back in her chair under the umbrella, rubbing her wrists where Jesse’s rope had chafed them. Nasty bitch was going to pay, that she promised herself. She needed a drink. Something cold. A coke. A rye and coke. A bottle of rye.

“Bob,” she instructed. “Get me a rye and coke. And something to shoot.”

Bob, as ever, obliged. Even so, Ashe wasn’t feeling much better that night when her lackeys finally got back to her. Holed up outside Santa Fe, they informed her. A motel with monthly rates. The exact perfect place for a cheap shit like Jesse McCree. 

“Did you ruin his life?” she growled. The kid who brought her the news shrugged.

“He ain’t goin’ anywhere. We figured we’d at least ask if you wanted to do it yourself.”

Ashe thought about the mess that had been that afternoon’s unsatisfying activities.

“You know,” she replied. “I think I do.”

Jesse McCree. Jesse James McCree. Everything her family was not. Skin and bones and scraped knees and cussin’ and putting his feet up on the furniture. Jesse McCree who’d fucking left her to go play the hero, Jesse McCree who had filled out something nice since the last time she’d seen him, finally putting some real muscle on that frame.

“He never should have left,” she said to Bob, riding in the sidecar. “We were so good, him and I. We could have been somethin’. Really been somethin’.” She revved the engine of the bike, forcing it to growl and grumble, matching her mood as she gunned down the desert highway. “And instead he threw it all away!” she hollered into the night. “You left them Jesse! You had another chance! Now you’ll fucking pay for not takin’ it!”

When Ashe arrived at the motel one of her boys was waiting for her, perched atop a nearby hardware store, closed for the night. He had a rifle with a scope that was passed to Ashe, and he showed her the window to Jesse McCree’s motel room.

_I’ll shoot out the TV, she thought, then we can surround the place, tie him behind the bike and force him to run behind us to the police and watch while we collect all that money attached to his name. Killin’ him is too good._

“He’s got someone with him,” her boy was saying. “Seemed kinda’ angry that McCree had gone off on his own.” Ashe lifted the rifle to her shoulder, peering through the scope. “And-”

“That ain’t McCree you nitwit,” Ashe interrupted. “That’s -” She stopped dead when she realized who it was.

Hanzo.

Fucking.

Shimada.

\---------------

She’d seen Hanzo once since they were kids, a scant few years ago. Their fathers had continued to do business right up until his up and died, and she needed funds to keep Deadlock in the black. Clean - well, cleaner - money is what she sought. Honest dollars for honest work for her boys. She’d worn a suit and travelled to Japan and everything. Hanzo Shimada on the other hand was a fucking wreck. He was in his shirtsleeves, long hair uneven and loose around his face. He was only in his thirties and he was going grey, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in several days. When she got there several of the senior - in both respects of the word - members of the “business” were buzzing around him, reminding him of this and that and the other thing. 

“You are under no obligation to maintain your father’s ties,” one of them reminded him, before Hanzo sent them all away. He went to take a drink from the glass in his hand. Ashe had no idea what was supposed to be in it, but it looked like a glass for alcohol. It was empty. She almost felt sorry for him.

“I am glad you are well,” said Hanzo, “and greatful you made the trip. What can I do for you?”

“You sure you wanna do business here?” Ashe asked, her own words surprising her. “You look like you need a pick me up.”

“I assure you, whatever I have available here is better than what they serve in the bars in this town.”

“I more meant you look like you could use a coffee.”

“I do not drink coffee,” said Hanzo, “and we have business to attend to, no?”

_No_ , thought Ashe. You look like you drink Southern Comfort with your breakfast. Though whatever the hell he drank was probably a lot more top shelf than Southern Comfort. Ashe seated herself, stated her business, laid her plan. Everything formal and planned and rehearsed, like he’d like it. Hanzo was not the astute, aware businessman she was expecting, however. He listed as she spoke, checking the clock, his phone, waving away the servants that came to the door. No omnics for the Shimada. They employed real people to silently obey them. She wished she hadn’t left Bob with the car. By the time Ashe finished speaking, Hanzo had checked out entirely. He sighed.

“I will think about it,” he said. “Though we are not looking to expand our enterprise at this time. Now, I am sorry, if you will excuse me.”

And that was it. Ten hours on a plane and that was all she got out of him, a mere handful of words. Even wrecked and drunk, he still thought he was better than her.

\---------------

So, not only was Hanzo Fucking Shimada in the motel room, he appeared to be naked, his - goddamn it! - incredibly well sculpted torso on display for the whole world to see, and in mid coitus, his head thrown back, rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, riding someone beneath him with the column of his throat exposed and a sheen of sweat on his forehead and the generous expanse of his pectorals.

_Wait,_ Ashe realized. _These idiots don’t know who Hanzo is. They don’t know what he looks like. They just followed McCree. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring me here for anyone but-_

And there is was, a now familiar prosthetic arm rising into view to play down Shimada’s spine, stroke the back of his neck, take the swell of his chest in hand. Ashe gripped the stock of the rifle so tight her knuckles turned white. She couldn’t believe it. After all this time. Jesse put a steadying hand on Shimada’s hip, slowing him so he could sit up, rise into view all sweaty and disheveled to take Shimada’s jaw in his hands and kiss him. Ashe hated that kiss, wet and sloppy, desperate. He didn’t need to kiss Shimada, he could just be fucking him for christ’s sake but noooo, he had to be kissing him, like the sap he was.

“Like I was saying,” said Ashe’s boy from Deadlock, “he’s got a boyfriend with him, or something.”

After all this time, all this time it had to be Hanzo Shimada, of all people, Hanzo look - at - me - look - at - how - perfect - I - am - Shimada who waltzed back into her life at the same time as the infuriating Jesse McCree, only he wasn’t waltzing he was riding Jesse’s dick like he owned it. Ashe couldn’t hear what was going on in the motel room, but she could see Shimada’s mouth open, tell what was going on as he finished and cried out against Jesse’s mouth. And instead of giving him that cocky grin Jesse clung to him, held him, kissed him through it. He should be using him dammit, that’s all the little snot deserved. Why did it have to be him, why did it have to be Shimada, who got all the admiration and attention she deserved just because he could kiss ass and keep his suit clean.

Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe hated Hanzo Shimada, and after today she doubted she was ever going to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> This probably could have been more but screw it, I don't often finish things in one go and if I put it down who knows what will happen. I had fun writing and I hope you had fun reading. Ashe is probably going to be the bane of my gaming existence for the next few months but damn does the Steampunk fangirl in me not love her costume design. I will give a cookie to anyone who can show me how to format larger section breaks.


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